


Skirmish

by Silvestria



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Coconuts, F/M, Gen, bazaar, estate management, subtex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 14:32:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvestria/pseuds/Silvestria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles Blake has some bad news for Mary Crawley at the Downton bazaar. Inspired by 4x08 pictures and written before 4x07 - so sadly, no porky spoilers!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skirmish

"Lady Mary?”

She turned at the sound of Mr. Blake's voice and forced a smile, her mind still on other matters.

He approached her. “I came to tell you that Evelyn and I have finished our investigation.”

“No small talk, Mr. Blake? Aren't you going to ask me if I'm enjoying the bazaar?”

He glanced at her, unmoved. “There are grown men hopping across fields in sacks. What's not to enjoy?”

She glanced back. “As you say, such fun.”

As he looked away from her a moment, Mary thought she saw a twitch of his lips that suggested a smile. Mr. Blake seldom smiled, especially around her, but she had on several occasions thought that he was, if not wanting to laugh at her, then certainly wanting to smile. It was very irritating and riled her perhaps more than anything else about him.

As he did not seem inclined to speak further but to remain at her side nevertheless, she made another effort at conversation. “Are we to lose you soon then?”

Now he really did catch her eye and something flickered briefly in his that made her frown. It was gone so quickly that she thought she must have imagined it.

“I think so,” he replied. “We've nothing to stay for. At least _I_ don't.”

 _Evelyn._ Evelyn and the infatuation of which he had never quite managed to rid himself. Mary's eyes flickered away from him. “Quite. Well, I hope it has been useful for you.”

“Do you? Let me tell you our conclusions.”

Mary shrugged and walked on, not looking at him. In her heart of hearts she knew what he would say but that did not mean she wanted to hear it and from him of all people.

Unseen by her, Charles sighed. Then he caught up with her and delivered his piece, telling her with brutal and mechanical precision just how much difficulty Downton was really in. When he finished, Mary stood stock still, flexing her hands at her sides as her heart beat with a sick thumping.

Finally, she raised her eyes to his, inscrutable as always but somehow seeming warmer than usual as he observed her. “I suppose I should thank you for telling me in advance of your report.”

“That's unnecessary, Lady Mary.”

She dithered a moment, wanting to be free of him and the conversation but well aware that being alone with her own thoughts would be many times worse.

She gave in to necessity. “Is it all over then or is there anything I can do now?”

“Yes,” Mr. Blake replied readily, “there are always things you can do but you'd have to compromise.”

She was tired of that sceptical look. Taking it on the chin, she only nodded. “In that case, I shall ask Lord Gillingham if-”

Now he did turn away with a sudden, uncharacteristic movement of annoyance. “The best thing you can do is to stop asking Gillingham for advice all the time!”

Mary opened her mouth and shut it again, surprised by such animation from him. “I think you like him the least of the lot of us!”

“The man's a fool and you should choose better advisors.”

“What do you mean by that?” she pressed him with a frown. Tony had been nothing but helpful, nothing but considerate, and had more ideas than she and Tom had come up with. He had gone out of his way, far beyond the call of duty, especially after his disappointment at her hands.

Mr. Blake rolled his eyes or came as close to it as such a heavy lump of a man ever did. “His estate is nearly bankrupt from death duties so he rents it out to a girls school and then moves in to live with his mother where he can watch adolescent girls play hockey all over his croquet lawn while they take afternoon tea in the dower house. To sort it all out he gets engaged to the richest girl in England! And this is the man you choose to listen to, Lady Mary? A fool bankrolled by an heiress is still a fool.”

This was a long speech for him and an emotional one. Ignoring the implied dig at her father that she couldn't imagine was unintentional, she observed him, less offended by his animosity towards Tony than curious.

“So who do you suggest I should listen to? _You_?” she inquired with brittle sarcasm and raised eyebrows.

He took a breath and shook his head, his features settling once more. “I'm afraid I wouldn't say anything you wanted to hear.”

“Why are you telling me all this? You despise all of us. You've made that perfectly clear from the moment you arrived.”

He held out a hand to her in supplication and denial. “No, it's snobs I don't like. I don't _despise_ you, Lady Mary.”

Mary took a deep breath and gave herself a little shake. “What a relief! How do you feel about inverse snobs, Mr. Blake?”

His gaze brushed over hers in comprehension but he replied gravely, “Inverse snobbery is nothing more than snobbery by people who believe themselves above such a failing.”

For a moment their eyes met and once more Mary suspected that he was amused, only this time she did not feel threatened by it. In fact, she felt a prickly awareness of the steady way his eyes rested on her, how they had done from the first night he had arrived.

“Well, thank you for your help,” she said to fill the pause in the conversation.

“I'm not helping you,” he corrected her carefully. “I'm giving you facts. What you do with them, if anything at all, is up to you.”

“In that case, I look forward to recruiting your facts onto my side. I do hate to go into battle unprepared.”

They had wandered half way round the stalls. Mr. Blake stopped walking abruptly when she spoke. He looked almost as if he would have preferred it if she had said she had no intention of fighting for Downton which, she reflected, was probably the case. They had paused at a coconut shy and Mary was just wondering how she might escape when her companion overcame his moment of hesitation.

“Will you start your fight here?” He gestured at the stall, his words strangely awkward for so simple a question, his half smile tentative.

Mary glanced between the colourful awnings, the row of tempting coconuts, the stall's owner who had smelled a customer and was looking at them hopefully and back at Mr. Blake. Her chest tightened. “I'd rather not actually,” she replied quietly.

He shrugged. “No matter.”

Without saying anything more, he turned from her and strode over to the stall, dug out some coins from his pocket and handed them over. Mary stayed where she was, unable to help watching even though he did not once look back at her. He weighed his first ball carefully in his hands, sized up the target, and when he finally threw it, it cut cleanly through the air and knocked the coconut off its stand with a satisfying thunk.

Mary took one step forward unable to help herself, Mr. Blake turned his head to look directly at her, and somehow she found herself joining him at the stall, appropriating the second ball, taking aim and knocking the second coconut off its perch – and then the third too.

The stall holder handed her the fourth ball but she did not use it. She turned to face Charles, willing her heart beat to steady. There was no need for such a rush of adrenalin after such brief exertion.

She dropped the final ball into the palm of his hand. “Do you think I'm in with a chance, Mr. Blake?”

His eyes flickered down to his hand and back up. “A coconut's a rather different beast to a country estate, Lady Mary.”

Despite the bad news about Downton, the antagonism that existed between them, and the memories that the coconut shy had brought back to her only a few minutes earlier, somehow, impossibly, Mary felt lighter than she had in months. It was her turn to laugh at him and she had no intention of hiding it.

“Well observed!” she retorted, smiling satirically. Before he could reply, she flicked her eyebrows at him, spun round and walked away from him just as abruptly as he had often given up on their conversations.

She was coursing with so much energy that she was hard pressed not to break into a run and do something reckless - she did not want to imagine what, but she held back, maintaining a steady pace away from the stall even though she could feel the weight of Mr. Blake's eyes on her back as much as if she could see him. The temptation became too great, however, and she turned round in time to see him fling the fourth ball at the final coconut.

He missed.


End file.
